


No Decisions, No Regrets

by highestkingbambi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Binge Drinking, F/F, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Set in Eliot and Margo’s first year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi/pseuds/highestkingbambi
Summary: He hears her footsteps before the door to his bedroom opens. The heavy stamp of platform stilettos reverberates through the floorboards and Eliot closes his eyes, praying that she is there to relieve him of his educational misery.“Get up, put some pants on and clear those nasal passages,” Margo says as she bursts through the door. Already dressed in a black leather mini skirt and gold sequinned top, she stands above him, part Valkyrie, part Angel—one hundred percent an agent of debauchery.Set in their first year at Brakebills, Eliot and Margo go to a magical warehouse party and a least one of them gets royally fucked up.





	No Decisions, No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [OneEyedDestroyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildeBones/pseuds/OneEyedDestroyer) for her excellent beta skills and special shout outs to [BrightWhiteLights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightWhiteLights/pseuds/BrightWhiteLights), [machtaholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderella81/pseuds/machtaholic) and [AnnCherie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnCherie) for the discussion on Eliot’s alcohol choices and to [whisperofgrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperofgrace/pseuds/whisperofgrace) for her words of encouragement while I complained about this idea overtaking my brain. 
> 
> Just in case anyone isn’t familiar with who Camille is, she’s the psychic who welcomes Penny when his discipline is decided, and who helps Margo kidnap Quentin before The Trials.

Eliot is just about ready to slam his face down between the impossibly dull pages of _Ethics & Magic_. He’s already considered burning the pages, but at a place like Brakebills, you never know what kind of retribution the book can dish out. 

Reaching beneath his bed, he finds a half-empty bottle of Patrón and takes a long, desperately needed drink while contemplating whether he should even bother trying to understand the chapter again. The tequila hits his empty stomach, and he feels it lurch—it’s either time to make dinner or just keep drinking. He’s never going to get anywhere with his studies. 

He hears her footsteps before the door to his bedroom opens. The heavy stamp of platform stilettos reverberates through the floorboards and Eliot closes his eyes, praying that she is there to relieve him of his educational misery. 

“Get up, put some pants on and clear those nasal passages,” Margo says as she bursts through the door. Already dressed in a black leather mini skirt and gold sequinned top, she stands above him, part Valkyrie, part Angel—one hundred percent an agent of debauchery. 

“What’s the occasion?” Eliot is already grinning from ear to ear. He pushes himself up off the floor where he laid in only a t-shirt and boxers and makes his way over to his closet. 

“Boredom,” Margo says, checking her manicure while he sorts through his shirts. “Also, I’m horny as fuck,” she adds with the kind of nonchalance that might shock anyone else, but they’ve known each other four months now, and Eliot is used to Margo’s refusal to care about social norms. “But seriously,” Margo says, though they both know she is deadly serious about the first two reasons. “Camille has a line on an alumni party in the city, and you know how much I’ve been dying to go to one of those.”

Humming his approval of her reasoning, Eliot tosses up between a navy and charcoal geometric print or a floral option covered in tiny forget-me-nots and daisies. He grabs them both and puts them under her nose. “Choose for me, Bambi,” he demands. “I’m not in the mood to make decisions tonight.”

Rolling her eyes, Margo points at the floral shirt. “Just so you know, I’m not responsible for you.”

***

Green laser-light peaks through the bottom of the warehouse door and Eliot can feel the bass of music pumping through his middle ear. There’s a little burn in his nostrils from the line of coke they did before stepping through the portal, but it isn’t enough to make the music bearable. Margo grabs him by the arm and leads him forwards, just a step behind her psychic friend Camille and a few steps ahead of some random kid that supposedly lives on the same floor as him. 

Reaching the bouncer, Camille mutters under her breath while her fingers twist into an unfamiliar spell. With a final snap of her thumb and middle finger, she conjures a technicolor butterfly that bursts into a spark before disappearing into thin air. Eliot tries to hide his awe, looking to Margo instead, but she’s already making her way in through the now open door. 

“Come on, Troy,” Eliot calls out to their extra companion. He still has no idea how the guy even managed to convince them to let him tag along, but Eliot lets it slide—he’s cute enough to use as a backup if the night is a bust. 

“It’s Todd,” the guy says quietly, skulking through ahead of Eliot to follow the girls. 

Eliot doesn’t care enough to commit it to memory. Not when there is a bar up ahead, and the promise of magic-infused illicit substances lurks in the darker corners of the converted warehouse. Smoke fills his vision, while the music blares from hidden speakers. He can feel the pulsing of sweaty bodies dancing in the middle of the space and knows he’s nowhere near high enough to even consider joining them—yet. 

Already a little buzzed from his own liquor, Eliot opts for a classic gin and tonic at the bar, while Margo and Camille share a bottle of Prosecco between themselves. He’s starting to think that perhaps his best friend already knows who she wants to go home with, and didn’t even need to leave campus to make it happen. Still, he’s grateful for the escape, even if he’s relegated to the third wheel. 

When he turns to offer a drink to the other guy, Eliot finds that he’s already lost in the throng of strangers. No loss really, after a few more drinks and a couple more lines, he’ll barely remember what he looks like. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Camille exchanging more cash than the wine requires, and watches as a small bag drops into her hand. Getting high as a magician is so much easier than it was as a normal. He’s got his own connections, but being psychic must have its perks—he’s only really, consciously, known about magic for a few months—she’s known for years. 

Sharp nails dig into his forearm as Margo drags him with them towards the bathrooms. With her usual disregard for queuing, they find a stall and squeeze in. Eliot holds his two drinks above their heads, occasionally taking a sip while he waits for them to line it up on the mirror Margo brought in her purse. 

“Do we really need to hide in here like we’re eighteen with fake ids?” Eliot asks, finishing the first of his drinks. Juggling the glasses, he manages to fold the sleeves up of his shirt. It’s already too warm, and he knows it’s only going to get warmer. 

“If you think just because everyone out there is a Magician, there aren’t any Narcs, you’re more naive than I thought,” Camille snarks, reminding Eliot why she’s only Margo’s friend. “I heard that,” she adds and he quickly tightens his wards. 

“Babe,” Margo says, finishing her artwork of three parallel lines. “Play nice,” she grins up at him before she takes her pre-cut straw and snorts her line. “It’s nostalgic,” she laughs, petting his arm while Camille does hers. They leave the last for him, and all three awkwardly shuffle around the stall so he can get close enough to lean down. 

Holding both glasses in his left hand, Eliot takes the straw and brings it to his nose. He runs it across the mirror, inhaling as he goes, feeling that familiar burn as the cocaine hits the sensitive nerve endings. With the first line already making its way through his system, the second hit works faster. Pupils dilated, he blinks a few times and shakes his head. There’s a overwhelming warmth in his limbs that he knows is just a placebo for now, but it will be real soon enough. Eliot licks his index finger and picks up the leftover powder, running it across his gums. 

“Waste not, want not,” he smirks, feeling his gums go temporarily numb while Margo sighs at his cliché. She does the same, but there’s almost nothing left, so she places the mirror back in her purse. 

There’s no hiding what they were in there for, but it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of them. Making their way back out to the central expanse of hard concrete floors and enhanced laser shows, the desire to join the throng of sweaty bodies starts to grow. Thankfully, it’s still not strong enough to have him pry his arm from Margo’s grasp. 

Adamant that he’s not going to make his own decisions, he lets her drag him to an area filled with plush but aged couches. Very little space left, he sits down first, before Margo lounges over his lap and Camille squeezes in beside him. It’s a waste of his buzz, but it will do for now. He polishes off his second gin and tonic, while Margo drinks from the bottle with a straw. The sight of her—perfectly made-up face, deceptively undone waves, drinking to get drunk on his lap has him more content than he possibly ever was before Brakebills. How he lived his life without someone so completely in sync with him, yet also determined to make him do more than he could often be bothered, is a mystery he’ll never solve. He doesn’t want to anyway. 

Sitting across from them, two guys that look to be in their late twenties move their chairs over and try to introduce themselves. The music is so loud that even if Eliot cared, he still wouldn’t be able to hear their names. 

“Brakebills?” Eliot hears one of the guys say. The stranger leans in so close in anticipation of a conversation that Eliot feels Margo stiffen on his lap. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around her, and the guy backs off a few inches. 

“Obviously,” Margo says, regaining her composure after the unwelcome invasion of her personal space. 

“Class of 2012,” the guy says, producing a frosted Perspex key. Eliot remembers the first time he saw one, and his abject disappointment at the lack of flair. It’s even less impressive now. 

Sinking back into the couch, Eliot lets the music drown out the sound of Margo half-heartedly humoring the guy. He closes his eyes and feels the vibrations from the speakers in his toes, spreading upwards through his legs. So far the ‘magic’ cocaine doesn’t feel any different to what he’s used to, but he’s willing to give it another ten minutes to affect him before he looks for more. 

After a while, his legs start to go numb, and Eliot opens his eyes to see the second guy, who hasn’t said a word, staring at him. This one is much cuter than the first, and his lack of speaking has Eliot intrigued. Trying out a welcoming smile, he tests his interest. Eliot lowers his eyelids and watches as the guy ever so subtly squirms in his seat. Running his hands up Margo’s thighs, he never once takes his eyes of the other man’s lips, grinning triumphantly when he sees him cross his legs and tighten his mouth. Satisfied that he has his attention—and that it’s the exact kind of attention he wants, Eliot indicates his empty glass. He pretends to himself that he’s still not making any decisions, simply leading others to make them for him. 

The guy he’s interested in nudges his friend and whispers what Eliot can only assume is the idea that they should buy a round of drinks. When they say it out loud, he’s already getting up, while Margo slides off his lap and into his space on the couch. “I’ll come with,” he says, both out of necessity to ensure their drinks aren’t tampered with and to get a little closer to the one he might actually want to know the name of. 

Leaving Margo with a kiss on her forehead and a squeeze of her arm, Eliot trails behind the two men as they make their way to the bar. He takes the chance to appraise the one he’s interested in; average height, olive skin, long, dark curls tied up in a bun, wearing a dark green t-shirt, grey jeans and sneakers. Attractive enough, but not in a way that makes Eliot want to get to know him. Then again, Eliot rarely wants to get to know anyone he’s attracted to. 

At the bar, Eliot pushes to the front and orders himself another two gin and tonics—not mixing his liquors, like the responsible adult he knows he isn’t. The Brakebills bragger asks him what to order for the girls, and he has to hold in a laugh. “Oh, I wouldn’t bother, they’re definitely not interested in you,” he says. It’s as nice as he can pretend to be. “But your friend can pay for these if he wants,” he turns and smiles at the silent guy. “Eliot, by the way,” he introduces himself before turning back to the bartender and asking for more of what Camille got them earlier. 

Just about ready to pay for it himself, Eliot finds a muscular arm slide between him and the bar, with a wad of cash in hand. “I’ll get that for you.” Finally, a voice to go with the cute face. “It’s Kris, by the way, with a K,” he adds, taking the place of his now clearly pissed off friend. The bragger leaves with a single beer, while Kris finishes buying their drinks and the extra gram of coke that Eliot knows he doesn’t need but wants nonetheless.

“Greek?” Eliot asks, enquiring about the specific decision to spell out his name. 

“I can be,” Kris says, slipping the bag into Eliot’s shirt pocket. “If that’s what you want me to be.” The lowered voice and lingering touch on his chest tell Eliot everything he needs to know about his suitor. 

For a moment, Eliot considers grabbing a second bottle of prosecco for Margo and her date, but he looks over to the couch and sees Camille with her hand up that leather skirt and decides to leave them to their fun. He downs his first drink, faster than he probably should, but he likes the music now playing, and he’s got someone to grind against. Leaving it on the bar, he takes Kris by the arm and leads him to the mass of bodies in the center of the warehouse. 

Eliot doesn’t dance, but he does know how to move. One hand holding onto his drink, while the other loops around Kris’ waist. They slide against each other in time with the music, and the slightest bit of sweat builds on Eliot’s skin. There’s a handful of required actions to play through before they can justifiably move onto the next stage of their rapid courtship, and Eliot determines to work out if he’s going to be the one to put in more or less effort. 

The combination of flashing lights, thrumming bass and the pulsing of every nerve in his body has Eliot starting to lose track of time. What he does know is that he’s sweaty, horny and after kissing for longer than he cares, he can admit that Kris does seem to know what to do with his tongue. Catching his fingers in the elastic band keeping Kris’ curls off his face, Eliot pulls them apart and whispers a suggestion that they change locations. Biting his lip, Kris nods and drags him willingly back to the bathrooms. They slip inside a stall, and Eliot finds himself against the door. His shirt unbuttons itself while Kris trails desperate kisses down his torso. The whole situation is easier than Eliot expects, yet he still can’t help but place his hand on Kris’ head and push him to his knees. 

Before he knows it, Eliot’s trousers and boxers drop to his thighs, and Kris’ mouth wraps around his mostly hard cock. He needs to steady himself, his arms stretch outwards, pressing against the relatively clean walls of the small stall they occupy. He’s barely thinking about the man that owns the tongue currently twisting around his shaft. Looking down, all he notices is how good he looks with his thick black chest hair glistening with sweat and trailing down to his undefined, yet toned abs. In a way, he's disappointed he can't see his cock and gloat over that too. He kind of knows it’s the drugs that have him so infatuated with his own appearance, but it’s so easy to convince himself to be proud of everything he’s worked on about himself. Thankfully the memory of his pre-college appearance lasts only a second and doesn't affect him like it would if he was sober. Nothing like a stranger sucking his dick in a bathroom stall while coked out of his mind to pump that ego right up. 

Eliot remembers that he has more cocaine in his pocket and gets some out on the tip of his index finger, taking care to time his inhalation with the motion of Kris’ mouth and tongue. Distracted from his building orgasm, he taps Kris on the shoulder and offers him a hit. If he weren’t so fucking high, Eliot knows he would start to go soft, but there is no chance of that happening, and he comes almost as soon as Kris drags his tongue back across of the head of his cock. He watches with amusement as Kris grabs a handful of toilet paper and spits him out. Wiping himself off, he fixes his clothes and leaves, waving off Kris’ attempt to imprint a phone number on his arm that he’s unlikely to call. 

Outside the bathrooms, he sees Margo and Camille still on the couch—or maybe back on the couch; he has no idea how long he’s been gone. He walks over to them, and they disentangle their limbs long enough for Margo to take him by the belt loops and pull up his fly. She gives him a knowing smirk, and he returns the favor. The exact color of Camille’s lipstick stains Margo’s neck in a handful of places before fading out.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Camille says, not bothering to hide the way she slides her hand up and down Margo’s thigh. 

“House party a few blocks away,” Margo winks, “much more intimate.”

Eliot knows what she’s getting at. His friend is a little more selective of the locations she’s willing to get off in, and he’s ecstatic she’s not ready to call it quits and head back to school while he's still loaded. 

“Todd’s coming too,” Margo adds flatly, pointing towards the guy from Eliot’s floor that he had completely forgotten about. 

“Thanks for bringing me guys,” Todd says happily, while an incredibly drunk looking girl hangs off him. 

They lose Todd and his new friend on the way to the apartment of a friend of a friend of either Margo or Camille, only Eliot wasn’t listening when they explained it and he doesn’t care anyway. The mood at the supposed party is way too fucking somber for him, but Margo and Camille find a spare bedroom and he wants his friend to be happy, so he endeavors to entertain himself out in the lounge room. 

Smelling lemongrass and patchouli, Eliot decides whoever is hosting the ‘party’ is a hippy and he assumes they must be Camille’s friends. To combat the boredom he expects will overtake him, he finishes the last of the coke, and practices levitating the furniture. 

He starts with small items so that no one notices him. Camille’s friends are discussing the pros and cons of ayahuasca and it’s just not something he’s interested in. The thought of drinking something guaranteed to make him sick in the hopes of going on a spiritual journey to find his truth is the exact opposite of how Eliot likes to feel. His boredom grows and Eliot hopes that it won’t be too long before Margo is done—he needs her sitting next to him, judging the other people with him so he’s not stuck with his thoughts. 

Without her it’s just blah blah and he starts to use his telekinesis on larger items just to keep himself occupied. An empty chair in the corner wobbles and he thinks he might be too far gone to keep going, but the cocaine running through his system quickly stops him from second guessing himself. Eliot knows he is fucking amazing, so he moves up to the bookshelf. 

Keeping all the books and tacky shit from falling off the shelves is harder than he expects. More effort than he really wants to give and his mind is starting to drift to thoughts of bathroom blow jobs. There could be a crash, but he doesn’t really care, he’s lost and everything goes dark. 

The last thing he remembers is successfully holding up the bookshelf with his mind. 

***

Glare hits Eliot’s eyes, forcing him awake. He’s lying on a couch by the window in the common room of the Physical Cottage, naked but for his boxer briefs...and a belt. And cuffs around his ankles? It doesn’t quite click for him, but his head is filled with cotton wool, his mouth is sticky, and every breath smells like something died inside him. Both sweaty and cold, he feels like death warmed up, and if he’s honest with himself, there’s probably a chance his pulse stopped at some point in the early hours—like it tends to do on particularly big nights out.

Close by, he hears the sound of a click, and out of nowhere his pelvis thrusts high into the air. The motion has his stomach churn, the mixture of various liquids he’s yet to expunge from his system crash as angry waves inside him. Bile rises to his throat, and he swallows hard to keep it down. Another click and his pelvis drops back into the couch. 

“Oh good, you’re alive,” Margo says coldly, standing above him with a trigger in one hand and a drink in the other. “Spit,” she orders and shoves the glass into his hand while he struggles to sit up. 

Eliot spits in the glass before shotgunning the liquid—their as yet unpatented hangover ‘cure’. After placing the empty glass on the floor, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and truly takes in his surroundings. The cushions beneath him are damp with sweat, and he realizes he still has his socks on. They’re the only thing that prevented his ankles from being chaffed in his sleep. 

“Why am I wearing a gravity belt?” He asks. His voice is gravelly, and every syllable is painful for him to enunciate. 

“You were fucking comatose El,” Margo says with the hint of a snarl. It’s not the first time it's happened, and he can’t quite tell if she’s pissed off or just hungover. “After you had us kicked out, I had to come back here, get the belt, go back, only to find you recreating the Sharks vs. Jets scene from West Side Story in the middle of an alley,” she explains, exhausted at the memory. “Then when I had to put it on you because you were incapable of doing it yourself, and you sang “Gee Officer Krupke!” _at_ me. That bump on the back of your head—you’re fucking welcome that’s all I gave you while I dragged your lanky ass back here.”

“Why am I still wearing it?” He asks rubbing his head instinctively, not fully understanding her frustration at him ruining the night. 

“You insisted that it framed your junk perfectly,” she sighs, and it seems to him like they may have argued over it. 

“That’s…” he sighs looking down at his boxers, then back up a little to the belt. “Really?”

Margo rolls her eyes, seemingly unable to put into words just how much he clearly irritates her. Instead of justifiably chastising him, she puts out a hand for him to take. “Come on, I’m making you take a shower, you reek.”

Eliot takes her by the hand but pulls himself up without her assistance. It’s painful—everything aches, and he desperately needs to throw up, but it’s starting to dawn on him that he might have actually fucked up her night. And not just in the cute, ‘oh that’s just Eliot he likes to party a little too hard kind of way’. Legs shaky, he tries to lean on her for support, but she refuses to help him anymore. 

“What would I do without you?” He asks, refusing to let himself feel too guilty over it. It’s probably going to happen again. He tries to avoid thinking about the fact that he feels this shit and he’s only hungover so far. Eliot can tell by the way his toes feel painfully electrified at every touch on the floor, and that his head seems like it would be better if he left it in a freezer, that it’s only going to get worse. 

“Bitch, without me, you’d be dead,” she says without turning around, still leading him up the stairs. When they reach the top of the stairs, she turns and looks him right in the eyes. “You pull that shit again, you might still be.”

Maybe he does need to let himself feel that guilt.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very appreciated.
> 
> Also, I leave it up to the reader to decide if Todd gets lucky, or if this is the event that leads to him only having one kidney.


End file.
